


these arms were made for holding you

by bigstarkenergy



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Happy Ending, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, eames falls for arthur. literally
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:41:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23958607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigstarkenergy/pseuds/bigstarkenergy
Summary: The first time it happens, Eames is falling off a building that defies the laws of physics. As he hurtles toward the ground, he feels the same familiar panic, the same irrational fear, that this isn’t a dream, that it’s real, that he’s going to die.A few seconds later, he wakes up, very aware of his continued existence. There’s a firm, steady weight on his arm, sliding out his cannula, resting a brief second longer than it needs to.“Mr. Eames,” Arthur says, eyes bright and sharp.
Relationships: Arthur/Eames (Inception)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 164





	these arms were made for holding you

The first time it happens, Eames is falling off a building that defies the laws of physics. As he hurtles toward the ground, he feels the same familiar panic, the same irrational fear, that this isn’t a dream, that it’s real, that he’s going to die.

A few seconds later, he wakes up, very aware of his continued existence. There’s a firm, steady weight on his arm, sliding out his cannula, resting a brief second longer than it needs to.

“Mr. Eames,” Arthur says, eyes bright and sharp. He nods once, affirming, before moving on to the architect.

It’s the first job Eames has ever worked with Arthur, but even before he walks out of the warehouse that day, a hundred thousand American dollars richer, he knows it won’t be the last.

The second time, it’s topside, with the threat of injury looming large in front of him.

He’s more than a little drunk, which is why it’d been so easy for a burly man in the bar to have trounced him so easily. Any other time, Eames would’ve stood a fighting chance, but he’s properly pissed, which is why he ends up nearly on his ass.

Before he hits the ground, however, he becomes aware of strong, steady arms holding him up. He opens his eyes, feeling those same arms hoist him back onto his feet with ease.

“You’re a mess, Eames,” Arthur says, his cologne familiar and comforting.

“Not my fault,” Eames slurs, leaning against him.

Arthur scoffs. “It is, but you won’t even remember this, so there’s no point in arguing.”

Eames doesn’t bother to. Instead, he focuses on the base notes of Arthur’s cologne, something strong and mildly sweet, which doesn’t match up with the mental profile Eames has built of Arthur.

Before he falls asleep, his shoes taken off with that same tender care, he mumbles something along those lines. Arthur stops pulling up the covers for a second, bleeding warmth beside him.

“Go to sleep, Mr. Eames.” Eames can’t see him, and he’s so drunk that everything he’s experiencing should probably be blamed on the alcohol, but he could swear that Arthur’s voice sounds fond.

The third time it happens, Eames isn’t anticipating it, the shock, the push.The last thing he sees on steady ground is a projection, her blonde hair swaying as she smiles demonously down at him.

Eames is already expecting the pain, the shattered bones. He’s not nearly high enough to die on impact, and he can’t dream up a gun, so his current option is to bleed out, or try to alert a team member.

But just as Eames is bracing for impact, the floor turns into something softer, more flexible. Instead of shattering his bones, he hits the surface and bounces harmlessly for a few seconds.

“The job’s compromised!” Arthur is yelling as he runs up, eyes wild and flashing. Eames shakes off the shock of not dying, and quickly scrambles off the floor trampoline, grabbing one of the guns Arthur’s holding out.

They shoot their way out of the dream, killing half a dozen projections along the way. When Eames comes back to reality, he’s shaky with adrenaline, not only from the battle of fighting off a hoard of bloodthirsty businesspeople, but also from the fall before it.

As he takes shallow breaths, trying to remind himself of all the basic facts, his name, his birthdate, his age, his favorite food, he feels a touch to his wrist.

Arthur, who’s already dealt with their double-crossing extractor. “Hey,” he says, in his flat, southern Californian accent.

Eames nods at him. Normally, Arthur would move on by now, onto the next person, but there’s no one else in the room. Instead, Arthur wraps his hand around Eames’s wrist and squeezes.

Eames looks up to meet his gaze, and sees understanding in Arthur’s dark brown eyes. Eames can name his fear now, and that’s what it’d been, not adrenaline. Fear.

It’s so rare to be killed in a dream when one isn’t expecting it. There are set points for death, moments of greater possibility, but walking inside a glass building isn’t supposed to be more dangerous dreaming than topside. The work they do, facing down bullets and death every day, it isn’t scary, after a certain point. But coming face to face with your own fragile hold on reality will never cease to be terrifying.

Eames finds comfort in the contact for a few seconds before turning his hand around and squeezing back, letting go once he does. They leave the city as quietly as possible, splitting ways once they hit an airport.

As Eames watches Arthur disappear among a crowd of tired travellers, he thumbs his totem and feels a brief flash of sentiment he can’t place. Regret, perhaps. Worry, possibly.

And underlying them both, quiet and steady, a touch of fondness.

The fourth time, it’s a bit funny. They’re extracting on a twenty year old romantic, and Eames is playing the part as a princess, complete with a poofy dress.

He flings himself out of the tower, cursing his life as the ground grows closer. When he lands, he makes a great show of burying his head in Arthur’s neck, gripping his shoulders.

Arthur ducks his head and rolls his eyes, but he sets Eames down gently, like he did that one time at the pub.

“You’re an overdramatic ass,” he whispers, careful to make sure that the mark can’t hear.

“Darling, I’m hurt,” Eames whispers back, before running off to the mark. It’s all a bit charming and idiotic, but in the end, he catches a glimpse of Arthur’s smile before he ducks his head down.

The fifth time is in a rented apartment in some city in Europe, with the morning light streaming in.

“You snore,” Arthur says, smiling softly.

“I do not,” Eames retorts, affronted.

“You do,” Arthur says, grinning. “It’s okay, though. I have earplugs.”

Eames rolls over into Arthur’s space. “Somehow, that does not surprise me in the least.”

Arthur reaches a hand over him, pulling him closer. “Do I ever surprise you?”

“Every day, darling.”

Arthur snorts again, but it’s absolutely fond this time. Eames studies him, the flutter of his eyelashes, the faint freckles on his cheeks, the place where he knows Arthur’s dimples appear, like magic. He lies there, captivated, as a familiar feeling overtakes him. His own fate, rising up to meet him, his future, laid out in front of him.

Arthur leans in, seeming unaware of Eames’s cascade of emotions. Eames moves to meet him, giving in to the fall, trusting that Arthur will catch him, just as he always has.

**Author's Note:**

> this fic was inspired by the song 18 by one direction. it's a lovely song, and i suggest you read it alongside At Home in The Sea by pyrimidine, which is a gorgeous, heartstopping, beautiful fic.
> 
> i hope you're doing well, and that you enjoyed the fic!
> 
> kudos and comments make me very happy!
> 
> @arthureames on tumblr


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